Streets of San Francisco (2005 Audi S4 Avant)

Driving over the brow of Fillmore at Broadway hill, the glorious panoramic view of Marina district, Alcatraz, and Golden Gate Bridge fills my windshield. After many years conditioned in the technology way of life, I started to believe that this beauty could only be enjoyed and experienced by going to the IMAX theater, or by watching a Discovery Channel “Planet Earth” Blu-Ray DVD on a Sharp Aquos 52” 1080p LCD TV. But today, I experience this beauty from the comfort of my Recaro bucket seat while listening to the Audi Symphony Bose stereo system playing the Tony Bennett’s “I left my heart in San Francisco.”

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Earlier this morning, I was woken up by the sunlight shining on my face through my bedroom window. I looked at my T-Mobile MDA phone and it was 8 am. My mind drifted to the small talk I had with the girl behind the counter yesterday at The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf store.

“How are you today?” I said as she was handing me my decaffeinated mocha with light whipped cream.

“Living the dream!” she said with an ear-to-ear smile.

I was surprised by her response. It was unique.
I opened the window and stared at the top of glowing red Golden Gate towers behind the rooftops of the Edwardian and Mediterranean Sea Cliff houses. The morning air was balmy. I soaked this postcard-like scenery framed by the bedroom window. I asked myself, “Am I living the dream?”

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Due to the comfort of routines, the security of familiars, and the tranquility of repetitions, I took everything around me for granted; thinking that everything would always be there and stay the same. So I decided, today, I would slow down and smell the roses. I would roam around my beautiful town and hunt for the steepest roads of San Francisco in my beloved Audi S4 Avant.

Fillmore Street

The Pacific Heights neighborhood is still waking up. The sonorous burble of the 4.2 liter V8 engine bounces of the houses on Fillmore Street as I scale down this steep hill. The Tiptronic transmission allows me to downshift to the first gear using the paddle shifter even though I have left the gear on D mode. The smart logic knows that I am performing engine braking, so it doesn’t shift up

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Many couples and singles live near Fillmore, as it offers stupendous things to do after work hours and weekends. The famous annual San Francisco Jazz Festival is held on Fillmore Street at the end of June. Historically, Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, and Billie Holliday played in the Jazz clubs on Fillmore Street. Diverse ethnic restaurants setup tables on the street, nourishing the music lovers from morning till late at night. A few dance Swing, Jitter Bugs, and Shag to the effervescent and energetic big band music.

Pacific Heights is populated by gigantic luxurious homes with well manicured and sculptured stamp size gardens. Many of the houses on the hills have panoramic views of Golden Gate Bridge, Marina district, Alcatraz, the sister city Sausalito, and the hilly Marin headland National recreation area.

As I go up and down the hills, I pass rows of houses with distinct architectural styles. A Victorian house stands next to a French Chateau. An ancient Greek architecture house sits next to an Art Deco style apartment building and an Amsterdam ginger-bread house on the other side. On the next block, an Italian Renaissance house with its intricate carving and statues is right across from a minimalist sterile modern white house. Pacific Heights is a place where global architectures coexist.

Having the power of 340 Spartans under the hood makes driving around San Francisco a treasure hunting; searching for steepest road to climb. This Audi ignores the 25 to 31.5 percent gradient of the San Franciscan steepest roads. I put the gear on the S mode and I gun for the hill. My internal organs are squashed by the acceleration force. The sky is approaching at a very high speed. This must be the view observed by the Space Shuttle astronauts during lift-off.

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The car-chase scenes from the classic Steve McQueen’s Bullitt pop up in my mind. No, I don’t want to catapult the car up in the air and hit the ground with sparks coming out from the undercarriage. So, I apply the oversized 340 mm fade-resistance disc brakes. Slowing down to a crawl, the car uses its remaining explosive launch momentum to reach the top of the hill. I still can not see any road in front of me due the angle. I pull myself forward like Calvin and Hobbes pretending to drive.

California Street

Heading eastward on California Street, I enter Nob Hill; the highest point of California Street. This is where San Francisco’s early millionaires, the gold rush and railroad tycoons, built their mansions. Back then, they were called nabobs. It is slang for wealthy men, which gave Nob Hill its name. The historic cable car takes passengers, from the bottom of California and Market to the top of Nob Hill. Most tourists would take this archaic mode of transportation. No locals with their right mind would pay $5 and wait for over 60 minutes to hop onto this crowded cart, and travel up the hill at a measly 9.5 mph.

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Nob Hill has a great dancing place. Top of the Mark at the Intercontinental Mark Hopkins hotel hosts big band Swing and Blues ensembles. Here, dancing is not the only thing that takes your breath away. Panoramic view of the city from the dance floor makes this place as one of the most romantic places to bring significant other. The assortment of desserts; Thai Tea Crème Brûlée, Austrian Apple Mousse, and Caribbean Coconut Rum Charlotte with Baileys, are deliciously decadent. The doorman would greet you warmly at the front lobby as if you had lived there since you were 5.

One night, the valet parked my car just outside the lobby in between a glacier white Bentley Continental GT and a grigio touring Maserati Quattroporte. The S4 sporty grill, the bold hood line, the gentle curve of the Avant roof, the discreetly rising shoulder line, and the flared wheel arches make up a powerful, dynamic, and elegant stance, even when the car stood still. The reflection of lobby entrance lights on the Klasse-treated brilliant black paint glittered glamorously. The elegant, the sportiness, and the practicality are found in one package. Only a few can pull such ravishing alchemy.

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Grant Avenue

Going downhill towards the Piers, California Street crosses Grant Avenue; the main street of the second largest Chinatown in the US after the New York Chinatown. The red head and yellow body dragon dances wildly to the drum beat. Firecrackers pop and produce the burst of a hundred machine guns. The Chinese buildings in this neighborhood feature red columns, green tile roofs, and golden Chinese signs. The firecracker scents fill the air. Not far behind the dragon and the drummers, alluring dancers dressed in very vibrant and colorful sensual silky dresses perform acrobatic syncopation.

Ninjas in black and whites carry out gravity defying mortal combat moves.
Red lanterns are hung from wires stretching a few Chinatown city blocks. Some juggler play with fiery swords while the others on stilts perform mind-boggling back flips. Crowds are standing shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalks cheering and clapping. That’s always the image that comes to my mind when I visit a Chinatown. And I keep thinking that I would see “Rush Hour” Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker ransacking the festival for some scared-face, shifty eyes bad guys in black Armani suits and Ray Ban sunglasses.

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Occasionally, the scene above takes place in San Francisco Chinatown. But today, as I gently press the accelerator when the traffic lights on Grant Ave and Clay Street turns green, I only see tourists with their digital cameras strolling and shopping for cheap “I escaped from Alcatraz” T-shirts, “I Love SF” fleece jackets, Golden Gate key chains, Cable car coffee mugs, and California license plate refrigerator magnets. And once in a while, some tourists buy the terra-cotta warriors of Xian uniforms. The chirping of fake crickets in boxes fills the dim-sum fragrant air. Barbequed poultries, chopped pig ribs, and offal delicacies adorn many restaurant windows.

I have to shift the gear from the S to the D mode. This Chinatown’s stop and go traffic is too slow for the sensitive yet responsive accelerator and the high-rev gear shifting program. I push the gear lever forward, and the S4 changes it personality in the similar way Batman turns into Bruce Wayne.

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The comfort of the first class interior provides an oasis for me to take refuge from the hecticness and the buzz of Chinatown. The calm personality of the car brings tranquility. With tranquility, I see things outside the car move in slow motion. I have the heighten awareness of what’s happening around me. Spirited drivers and race car drivers notice subtle and intangible things like this.

Columbus Avenue

I reach the end of Chinatown on Grant Avenue. I turn onto Columbus Avenue heading towards the Canary at the Fisherman’s Wharf, looking for three steep hills nearby: Filbert at Leavenworth, Jones at Green, and Jones at Union.

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The smells of freshly roasted espressos, aromatic Italian pastries, warm fresh clams and mussels with white-wine sauce over angel hair spaghetti, and oak-burning brick-oven Margarita pizzas, awaken anyone who walks along Columbus Avenue during lunch and dinner times. This neighborhood is called North Beach, also known as Little Italy.

Many proud Italian families own and operate bakeries, coffee shops, and restaurants for many generations. They serve the San Franciscan’s hearty appetite for authentic Italian cuisine. Lovers, friends, and co-workers dine on the sidewalk tables adorned by colorful flower arrangement in wooden boxes on the windows, balconies, and sidewalks.

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Food is not the only attraction to this emblematic neighborhood. A stroll along Columbus Avenue, one would discover many quaint shops with incredible crafts and ceramics that would invite a sense of wonder. Small boutiques carrying handmade clothing and imported goods dot the street. This neighborhood is also home of the liveliest nightclubs and bars in town.

Then, there’s Broadway where strip clubs beam splashy neon signs and decadences adding a dash of sleaze to all the culture and history. On Friday and Saturday nights, the singles roam Columbus Avenue. The hunt is on for some. Boys meet girls, girls meet boys, boys meet boys, and girls meet girls; all kind of permutations. Seductive dancers gyrate their hips, full of emotions and provocativeness, capture the spirit of the wild San Francisco. And the parties go on late till the wee-hours of the morning. A waxing moon hangs over the Transamerica pyramid, and the night becomes magical for some.

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Montgomery Street

As I navigate my car towards the Financial District, I am comfortably cradled in the 12-way adjustable silk Napa leather Recaro bucket seat. The lowered sport suspension with the 235/35 18 inch wheels provides a comfortable precise ride despite the harsh and pimpled road surface. It is a wonder to me how the S4 Avant can have dual personalities.

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When I take this very same car to the Laguna Seca race track, this car makes me feel like Allan McNish navigating the Le Mans Audi R10 through the hairpins, switchbacks, and corkscrews at hugely fast speed with unwavering confident. Many tried and failed to combine performance and practicality. Only the passionate one can truly gain the combined mastery of engineering, craftsmanship and sportsmanship.

It is a lot of fun to be in the financial district during lunch hour on weekdays. The place is buzzing with activities. Men and women, dressed-up for success, rush to get to their lunch appointments. UPS and FeDex delivery truck drivers are busy collecting the parking tickets. DHL guys don’t want to be left behind either. The florists are busy delivering colorful and fragrant thank you notes and love letters to the unexpected recipients working in the offices.

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Stock brokers are bragging to friends about the killing they have made in the morning trades. Bankers, investors, and lawyers are having a power lunch meeting about how to buy some third world country that starts with a ‘B’, over seared tuna appetizer and salmon with chervil and lobster entrée.

Others decide to bask in the sun, having their take-outs among the pigeons at the city parks, office-building balconies, staircases, and squares. They are discussing the bands and Broadway shows playing around town, the foreign movies showing at the Embarcadero Theater, the new restaurants around the corners, and the multiple bids on the skyrocketing priced closet-size condos in the city.

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Food vendors in the financial district sell fruit juices, gluten-free desserts, soy based ice creams, organic salads, and low-calorie pasta. After work hours, the movers and shakers of the financial world change their attire to sportswear and head to the around-the-corner Yoga and Pilates classes.

Living the Dream

I parked my car at the bottom of Coit tower on Telegraph hill. I am leaning against the hood of my S4. This is one of the best places to relax and to lose your mind to the moment. The 270 degree sweeping view before me featuring the rolling Russian hills, the Marina district, the Golden Gate Bridge, the Alcatraz, the hill Marin headlands, the expansive bay, the Treasure Island, and the Bay Bridge makes me count my blessing.

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The sky is clear blue, but there is a layer of fog covering the bottom part of the Golden Gate Bridge. Ten years I have been living in this town, only now I soak the city as it is meant to be.
Driving my S4 on the streets of San Francisco gives me a new sense of appreciation for those white coat gear heads in Ingolstadt. This car doesn’t feel and go like an Audi because it is an Audi, which means it is always ready to thrill you in the seductive and naughty way and yet at the same time be practical and comfortable. What other real sport cars can take four adults and two American Eskimos comfortably for a weekend gateway, or just a drive around town.
I just realize now that I am living the dream.

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